


the pain we fear pales beside the love we grow

by agentx13



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, One Night Stands, maybe unrealistic but definitely happy, sharon carter month, unsupportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentx13/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: Sharon isn't the sort to have a one-night stand, but after a barb, she feels like she has to prove how loose and care-free she is. It doesn't go according to plan. She will never be a one-night stand sort of person. Fortunately, the same goes for the man she had the one-night stand with.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Sharon Carter Month





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those who like visuals, I actually saved the link to her apartments this time! So [here](https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/622-W-114th-St-Apt-61A_New-York_NY_10025_M38876-09701) is her apartment in this chapter! 
> 
> I'll be honest. I wrote this fic because I was petty. I hope you enjoy my pettiness!

Sharon Carter is not a one-night stand kind of girl. She’s the sort of person who’s been tweaking her life plan since she was four years old, the sort of person who had her ideal job at the top of the list and treated every other part of the plan as a malleable detail. Personal life? Detail. Love life? Very much a detail.

She focuses on training. She focuses on school. She focuses on having the best record possible. She focuses on making sure no one has anything negative to say about her that can hold her back.

On some level, she knows she needs therapy.

Just like she knows that on some level, her parents love her. Similar to how they love the racing horse that doesn’t win but gets her mother in the society pages. Similar to how they love the family mansion in Richmond where they entertain. Similar to how if it’s flawed, it’s hidden from sight and ignored.

There are times it gnaws at her, the sense that she is unloved by the people closest to her. But it isn’t as if there’s anything she can do about it. She knows how to be friendly, but not how to have friends. Love, that impossible-to-define state of mind, emotion, quality, ideal, is unattainable. Unimaginable.

The sensation is distracting, and she learns to manage it by sometimes taking a night to herself when studying no longer distracts her enough. It’s harder to do than it ought to be. She needs to have friends to do things with, and friendships take work. But it’s better than doing things alone. Right?

She manages a small group of friends in college. Bobbi is going into microbiology. Natasha is going into international diplomacy. Sharon, herself, focuses on biology so she has a better chance at getting into a medical school of her father’s choosing; despite excelling at her schoolwork prior to this, the thought that Sharon might be rejected had filled them with enough dread that they’d sent her to an Ivy League university that acted as a soft run. Simply being a nurse is too low-brow for her parents. And yet, she can’t fail.

It’s a very, very small group of friends. But Bobbi and Natasha have more friends than she does, and through them she’s able to meet more people. None of them friends, per se, but acquaintances.

“You,” Natasha says one night, “need to stop.”

Sharon looks up from her textbook. They’re in a bar, sure, but she has an exam in the morning, and it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. She can’t hang out with her friends without feeling guilty for not studying. “Stop what?”

Bobbi snorts.

Sharon closes the book but keeps her finger on the page. Subtly. “I have an exam tomorrow.”

“You’re in college,” Bobbi reminds her. “There’s always an exam tomorrow.”

“That’s 30% of the grade?” Sharon counters.

Natasha sighs. “Go.” She points regally at the door. “Go now. Go study. Call us when you’re done.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She grabs her bag, shoves her book in, and rushes through her good-byes as she hastens to the door.

“If you’re trying _not_ to die alone,” Natasha calls after her, “you’re going about it horribly!”

She ignores the sting of that and hits the sidewalk. She resituates her bag while she waits for a taxi. With none in sight but none ever far away, she takes out her textbook again. Damn it, Natasha. That hadn’t been necessary. Sharon just knows what she wants out of life and doesn’t want to get distracted by dumb things.

It takes her several seconds to be aware of the man at her elbow.

Her immediate response is to jump back and throw her textbook at him. “Jesus!”

He stumbles back, barely catching the textbook before it hits the ground. “Steve,” he corrects. He offers her the textbook, and she gingerly takes it, ignoring the laughter from the line of people waiting to get into the bar. He doesn’t laugh, only gives her a small smile. “Sorry. I wanted to ask if we could split a cab if we’re heading in the same direction.”

She blinks at him. He’s actually kind of handsome. Not that she cares. Because she’s focused on her studies. Yes. “I’m-” Headed to Columbia, she almost says. But then she remembers all the stories on _Forensic Files_ and _Dateline._ “That’s- I mean. Where are _you_ headed?”

“Columbia University. I live in the dorms.”

“I’m headed that way,” Sharon says carefully. “I should warn you, I know krav maga.”

He grins and holds up his hands. “I wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t look terrifying enough to protect me.” After a second, he adds, “I really am just asking because I’m poor as hell. Friends wanted to go out drinking but I couldn’t afford a Coors Light.”

“Why not just ask for water?” Sharon asks. “It’s basically the same thing.” She pauses. “So I’ve heard.”

He shrugs. “Not much fun to be the only one in the group not drinking. Besides, I’ve got a big test in the morning.”

“What in?”

“Art history. Monuments in Ancient Egypt and Greece and how they play into the concept of time. I’m expecting essay questions. You?”

“Cellular and molecular immunology.” She holds up her book. “It’s as fun as it sounds.”

“Sounds like it,” he says, clearly not thinking that at all.

A cab pulls up, and he quickly moves to hold open the door. She scoots inside, and he hesitates. “Sorry!” she calls back. “Yes. We can split a cab. You just- you get dropped off first.”

“Sure thing,” he says, jumping in and rattling off his address for the driver. She recognizes it. It’s a couple blocks from her apartment. “Thank you for this. I didn’t want to walk, and I don’t trust the subway.”

She shrugs. “Who could? It’s a biohazard.” She frowns. She looks out the window at the buildings creeping past as they slow for a red light. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

He shrugs. “Sure?”

“Do you ever have trouble managing a social life and school life? Like, do you ever feel that friends are a distraction?”

He stares at her, the lights shifting on his face as cars go by, changing its angles with shadows. “The people we’re with make our lives worth it.”

She makes a face. “You could just say ‘no.’”

“No, then.”

Sharon shakes her head. “You don’t worry about them holding you back?”

He frowns. “Good friends don’t hold you back.”

Which begs the question – is she problem, or are her friends the problem? They seem successful in their own right, which was part of the reason Sharon had chosen them.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” he asks. “That friends hold people back?”

“Success is important.” Success is how you keep the semblance of love when the real thing is just out of reach.

“But success without friends? Seems empty.”

She grunts. She wants to argue, but she can’t come up with a good argument. Success is… the closest she’ll get to love and acceptance, but if there’s no one to enjoy it with, will she be able to enjoy it on her own? Is Natasha right? Is she going to die alone? “I must sound like an idiot.”

He shrugs. “No. Just… No. It’s college. It’s not like any of us were going to figure out life’s secrets in high school.”

She grins. “You think we can figure them out in college instead?” She studies him in the dim light. “My place is closer than yours, if you want to save some money. Not much of a walk.”

“Promise? Because my feet are sore. We were playing touch football earlier, and they kicked my ass.”

“I thought you said your _feet_ were sore.”

“I did.”

She makes a face. “How do you walk?” She leans forward and gives the cabbie her address.

“Did you just imply I walk on my ass?”

“How else could getting your ass kicked make your feet sore?” she challenges.

“Fair,” he says slowly. “I swear, though, I know how to walk.”

“You’ll get the chance to prove it soon enough.”

The cab stops in front of her building, and he slides out, looking uncertain. She pays the driver and gets out behind him.

“How much do I owe you?”

She rattles off half the total and pauses. She shouldn’t, should she? Fuck. She doesn’t want to die alone. Here goes. “Hey. Have you had sex?”

He coughs.

Shit. “I mean. Do you _want_ to have sex?”

He stares at her.

“With me?” she asks, growing more uncertain by the moment. Crap. “Just. College stuff. Figuring things out.”

“Figure things out,” he repeats. He looks up at her building. “You know. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

“I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl.” She watches him, her cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment. “It’s cool. It was just an idea. A friend said I would die alone and I just thought- Well. A one-night stand isn’t going to fix that. Obviously. I just thought- I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you’ll die alone,” he says carefully, watching her. “I meant. I mean. I’d like to take you on a date first.”

She stares at him. “Really?” And then she shakes her head. “Maybe do this before I lose my nerve.”

“That’s not…” He scratches his ear. “That’s not the enthusiastic consent I was hoping for.”

“No, no! I want to! I do. I was just thinking – Sex first? I mean. I’m not- I’m not usually like this, and I thought- I mean. We’re here. You. Me. A bed up there. And now I’m thinking about it.”

“It’s not fair to make me think about it, too,” he gripes.

She takes his hand, her grip a smidge on the tight side, and drags him to the door. Her key card gets them inside, and she pulls him to the elevator. They exchange numerous just-missed glances, and then they get off on her floor and she leads him to her door. This time it’s a physical key, and she’s relieved when it opens the first time like it’s supposed to. She’d been afraid it would get stuck like it usually does or she’d drop it and, either way, look like a complete idiot.

She shoves open the door, leads him into her tiny studio apartment with its narrow window, narrow bedroom with the fire escape blocking the view, and the kitchen that’s almost as small as the bathroom. She turns to lock the door behind them, then looks at him as she tries to figure out how other people do this.

He looks over her shoulder at the locked door, and she decides to hell with it. She shoves herself against him, kissing him, and belatedly pulls back, her fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Sorry. I should have asked – is that okay?”

He blinks down at her. “Kissing me?”

She nods.

“I’ll allow it,” he says after a moment. “If I get to kiss you, too.”

“I think the point of this is that you get to do more than kiss me.” She turns her head in the direction of the bedroom and pulls him back with her, kissing him again before they can fall into her bed. The kiss escalates to pulling off their own and each other’s clothes. They fumble a bit at first, getting a sense of each other’s timing and expectations, but by two or three in the morning (she last checked her phone at one), they’ve got a better understanding of each other.

She wakes the next morning to hear him run out of the apartment, a hurried apology over his shoulder.

She drops her head on her pillow, grinning to herself at how stupid and reckless she’d been, how it had worked out so well, and- 

_Shit_ the test.

* * *

She wants to boast about the one-night stand to Natasha and Bobbi the next day, _especially_ Natasha, but she doesn’t know how to bring it up. It also strikes her as dumb that she’d tried to prove she wouldn’t die alone by having sex with a random guy she’d met on a New York sidewalk. Besides, she has her schoolwork, and she loses herself in her classes, and she’s not the best at keeping in touch with them.

Days pass. Natasha and Bobbi get in touch to make plans, but Sharon has to beg out each time. She doesn’t have an easy time memorizing facts that she’s supposed to care about.

Weeks pass. Natasha and Bobbi get in touch less often. Steve doesn’t get in touch at all. She tries not to let it bother her. It wasn’t as if he’d complained at the time. Although… enthusiastic consent? Had she not seemed enthusiastic enough? She shakes her head and tells herself to stop thinking about it.

It’s after the second month that she realizes she hasn’t had a period since the week before she’d met Steve.

* * *

“I’m impressed,” Natasha drawls. “ _You’re_ calling _me._ Is it because you want something?”

“Yes? Maybe.” Sharon stares at the pile of pregnancy tests in her sink. “Do you happen to know any reason why twelve pregnancy tests from different manufacturers would register someone as being pregnant?”

“Uh, because they’re pregnant?”

Sharon curses.

“Wait,” Natasha says quickly, before Sharon’s finger can hit the button to hang up. “You’re not- You don’t think _you’re_ pregnant! How?”

Sharon groans and hangs up anyway. She has to call her parents. But before she does that, she needs to- needs to… oh, crap. Okay. Slow down. Doctors. She needs to call a doctor. Okay.

* * *

“You’re not pregnant,” her mother says.

“Mom. I’ve done multiple tests. Blood. Urine. All of it. I’m pregnant.”

“No, you are not.”

Sharon frowns. “I am, though.”

“People like us don’t get pregnant unexpectedly, Sharon. How did this even happen?”

Telling her mother about a one-night stand isn’t an option. “It happens to people like us all the time, Mom.”

“And we make it go away because it _doesn’t_ happen to people like us. Do you understand? No man wants a single mother.”

Sharon’s brain screeches to a halt. She knows single mothers exist. She’s seen them before in restaurants or at parks or on the street, and she’s been envious that one parent could have so much love.

And she’s also wondering if there were other children, before her, that her mother never told her about. Shameful secrets hidden from sight, ignored, and ultimately forgotten.

“You sound like you’d be ashamed of me. If I kept it.”

“I’m ashamed of you as it is,” her mother says. “How could you let yourself- How could you do this to yourself? Your father and I worked so hard to raise you right!”

Sharon frowns at the phone. “You put more work into your horses, Mom. I’ll- I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Even as she hangs up, though, she isn’t sure when that will be.

She gets a text from her mother and father within the hour, saying they trust her to make the right decision.

* * *

She doesn’t know yet if she wants to keep it. Doesn’t know what her options are. Doesn’t know if anyone else will ever want her. Doesn’t know if she’ll ever see the father again.

But she knows things with her parents will never be the same, and she knows she needs to prepare.

She goes to visit her family’s lawyer, Coulson. She’s met him before at some parties here and there or when her parents need a favor, but she’s never actually spoken with him. Unlike her parents, he congratulates her on her pregnancy and doesn’t seem to judge as she expresses her concerns.

“Technically,” he warns slowly, “it’s a conflict of interest. But I _can_ say that you are of age to hire another lawyer to see to your needs, and I can recommend someone. Melinda May. She’s a friend. Brilliant lawyer. She’ll do right by you.”

By the end of the day, every account that is legally hers is on the way to being safely out of her parents’ reach. May also helps her set up a budget and recommends a financial advisor. Whether she keeps the baby or not, she’s financially independent of her parents.

It occurs to her later that she’d missed an entire day of classes and hadn’t even cared. And that reminds her that she needs to talk to her student advisor.

* * *

Bobbi and Natasha sit on her couch. The television is showing a sitcom, but no one’s paying attention. Sharon is noticing that they’re much closer to each other than they have been with her, are able to communicate by expression alone, but she also knows that it’s her fault for canceling so many plans.

“And he never got it touch,” Natasha says slowly.

Sharon shrugs. “To be fair, I think I forgot to give him my name.”

“Nice,” Bobbi says. “One-night stand protocol. Got that part right. Proud of you.” At Natasha’s look, she adds, “Maybe remember condoms next time.”

Sharon makes a face. “We didn’t exchange numbers, either. He knows where I live, but it’s not like he can get in to see me. I’m not sure he actually knows what apartment I’m in. I know his name is Steve, and he’s studying Art History. He had to take a test on monuments or something. In Greece and Egypt.”

“Fascinating,” Natasha says dryly. She looks at Sharon’s midriff. “So what are you going to do?”

Sharon collapses into the chair. “I don’t know,” she admits. “But the clock is ticking. My parents want me to get an abortion because being a single mother would hurt my marriage prospects. I talked it over with my advisor and they said I’d likely have to take time off school. And I’m paying for it myself now, so-”

“That’s good,” Bobbi says suddenly. “You didn’t want to be a doctor.” At Sharon’s look, she shrugs. “You didn’t. That’s why you always had to study so much. People aren’t passionate about learning things they don’t even care about.”

Sharon makes a face. Bobbi isn’t entirely wrong. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend,” she says after a moment. “I’m not good at the whole friends thing. I probably wouldn’t have come by if I were you.”

“We _are_ superior to you,” Natasha says, sound almost like she’s teasing. Almost.

Bobbi elbows Natasha hard in the ribs.

Natasha rubs the spot. “You never even told us you had a one-night stand. Would you have? If you hadn’t gotten pregnant?”

Sharon shrugs. “Probably not.”

Natasha stares at her. “That’s the sort of thing you tell your friends, Sharon.”

Sharon bites her lip to keep from glaring. “I mostly only even tried to have a one-night stand because you said I’d die alone.” She shrugs. “And I was afraid you were right.”

“I was _joking._ ” 

Sharon holds up her hand, her thumb and forefinger close together. “Not entirely.”

After a stretch of silence, Natasha admits, “Not entirely.”

There’s another stretch of silence.

Bobbi breaks it. “Can you even take care of a kid?”

Sharon shrugs. “Technically, I’m kind of… rich? Like. Almost a million dollars. That I can access at the moment.”

They both stare at her.

“My family’s old money,” she says, embarrassed. “In Virginia. Really old money. I got the finances straightened out. I might need a bigger place, but…” She shrugs.

“Hoping ‘Steve’ puts in an appearance,” Natasha says slowly.

Sharon shrugs.

“If you keep it,” Bobbi says, “I’m an aunt.”

Natasha sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Me, too.”

* * *

Since she’s paying for her own education now, she takes Bobbi’s advice and switches her major. Starting in January, she’ll be studying history.

She doesn’t go home for Christmas. Neither does Natasha. The two of them hit the town together and end up watching old movies on her couch while she searches for a crib online. There are too many to choose from, all with their pros and cons. 

In January, she has a noticeable baby bump. And her boobs get larger, too.

In February, Sharon opens her door to find Natasha holding a piece of paper beside Sharon’s face. Natasha turns it around, and it’s a detailed sketch of Sharon, complete with a phone number. There’s no other information.

“He’s not thinking of everyone who will call thinking it’s you on the other end,” Natasha guesses.

Sharon grins. “I don’t think so, either. Come on in. Should we wait for Bobbi before we call?”

* * *

She calls. She recognizes the voice. She can’t believe how good it is to hear him, how good it is to hear the _relief_ in his voice at hearing _her._

“I should have put my name on the poster,” he admits, clearly thinking of calls from people who weren’t her. “Um. Anyway. I wanted to take you on that date. I didn’t know how else to get in touch – I tried your apartment building but a little old lady started throwing things at me whenever she saw me.”

“Mrs. Simpson. She’s one of those New York characters that would get arrested in any other city.” She looks down at her bump. “We should definitely meet up, though. No pressure about anything. Promise.”

“Sure,” he says, sounding relieved again.

* * *

She walks into the coffee shop on campus at the appointed time. Bobbi and Natasha are nearby for emotional support if she needs it – people were right when they talked about how nice it was to have friends.

Steve is at a table in the back. He stands when he sees her, then his eyes fall to her bump. She stops, watching nervously as he processes it. No one wants a single mother, she remembers, and she’s terrified that her mother might be right.

And then he faints.

Not a good sign.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve shows he isn't a one-night stand kind of person, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tied a prompt into each fic, which meant that the stories are posted according to prompt, not anything else... which means that this is a very pregnant day for Sharon... She and Steve are also having a kid in Surprise, Surprise. If I'd noticed sooner... well. C'est la vie!
> 
> [Here's](https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/50-Morningside-Dr-Apt-1_New-York_NY_10025_M38308-29334) the apartment they buy in this one!

Two men nearby jump up to check on Steve, and Sharon drifts closer but hangs back as they flick ice water in his face.

“Did he just faint?” Natasha asks from behind Sharon. She’s toying with her phone as if tempted to record the scene.

Sharon sighs. “He had stamina before, trust me.”

Bobbi raises an eyebrow at her. “One day you’ll have to tell us the details about that night.”

She shrugs and moves closer as Steve starts to come to. Seeing her, he jumps up, then sways dangerously. “It’s yours,” she confirms, “but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” She looks at his friends and presses her lips together. Not the ideal way to meet them. “Hi. I’m Sharon.”

“Sharon,” one of them repeats. He pulls out a chair for her. “I’m Sam. You look like you need this, though not as badly as he does.

The other friend helps Steve into a chair. “I’m Bucky. Yes, it’s really my name. No, no one’s staying up all night to get me.”

“That can be fixed,” Natasha muses, looking him up and down.

Bucky glances at her and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Dangerous words.”

“I’m a dangerous person.”

Bucky spares Steve another glance to make sure he’s remaining upright on his own then looks back to Natasha, ignoring Steve completely. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Steve leans forward and sets his elbows on the table.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks.

“I’ll get some drinks,” Bobbi offers. “While you two catch up.”

Sharon nods, and once Bobbi has dragged Sam away, leans in to Steve. “I’m sorry. I tried to get in touch, but all I had was a name and a major.”

“I was running late for that test. I was going to leave a note but couldn’t find paper. Was going to send you a text but realized halfway to class I didn’t have your number.”

She holds up her phone. “Want it now?”

He holds up his own phone, his eyes falling to her stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about condoms.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t, either.”

“Do you- Is there someone else?”

“Some friends are helping me. The worst part is looking into stuff about raising a baby. Everyone has so much conflicting information. It’s got me second-guessing everything.”

“But no other guy?” he asks hesitantly. “Like a boyfriend?”

She raises an eyebrow. “No. There wasn’t before. There hasn’t been since. But I’m not expecting anything. Of you, I mean. You didn’t ask for this.”

He leans back in his seat, his eyes on his hands. He’s silent long enough that Sharon considers turning around to look for Natasha and Bobbi. “First things first,” he says slowly. “I’d like to ask you out. On a date.”

She catches her grin before it becomes a smile. First things first could mean anything. “I’d like that. What’s the second thing second?”

“If there’s a way for me to be more involved,” he says slowly, “I think I’d like that. I know I missed a lot. Have a lot to catch up on. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to.”

Her grin falls. “It’s not traditional, you know. And it doesn’t need to be. I’m not asking you to step up or make an honest woman of me.”

“This is our second time meeting,” he says with a hint of a lopsided grin. “Maybe there’s a universe out there where I’d propose on our first real date, but I think, in this universe, I’d settle for a second date.”

“Even though I’m…” She looks down at her stomach. “Up the duff?” She makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right, but it’s accurate.”

“Hey, you didn’t get that way alone. And I told you before – I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

She tilts her head to the side. “True. And I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl. But I think you need to know what you’re getting into. I’m not in contact with my parents anymore.” Except through lawyers. Should she mention that? “My hormones are all over the place. I dipped gummi bears in sour cream dip last night and thought it was the best thing I’d ever had.”

His eyes dance. “I don’t get scared away easily.” He hesitates. “And I think it’s a good thing you’re not in contact with your parents. I probably shouldn’t say that, but you didn’t seem happy when you talked about them.”

Her grin doesn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t. I switched my major to History, by the way. Enjoying it much more. And telling stories to, well…” She looks down at her belly. “It helps.”

He watches her hand. “Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Any suggestions for names?”

“My granddad was Ian. My mom was Sarah. Not that you have to, of course. Just suggestions.” He hangs his head, then looks to the counter.

Just in time, Bobbi plops their drinks down in front of them. For Steve, it appears to be a plain black coffee. For Sharon, a hot chocolate with lots of whip.

She gives Bobbi a grin. “What do you think of the name Eleanor? For a girl. Ellie for short.”

He considers. “I like it,” he admits. He takes a sip of his coffee. “So…” He clears his throat, thinking. “I hate to ask this because it sounds so trite, but… what are you thinking about doing with your history degree?”

“I’m thinking about writing a book, actually. With a focus on the queen consorts and how they secured or took the throne for their king or themselves.”

As talk turns to school, and from there to themselves, and they avoid talking much about the future, four hours pass.

This time, they make sure they have each other’s phone number before they part ways.

* * *

In the following months, she and Steve go on several dates, either alone or with friends, and her friend circle expands. When she isn’t studying, she’s preparing for the baby and hanging out with friends. Bobbi’s right about changing her major – with an interest in the subject, studying is easier. She’s getting good grades, and she even enjoys visiting her teachers during office hours to talk about the material. None of them seem to judge her for being pregnant, and a few even seem pleased that Sharon sometimes studies by telling her child what she’s reading in class; a few even give her extra books they think the baby might like (as if the baby is going to appreciate stories of siege warfare, not that Sharon would say that).

She caves during spring break and asks the doctor if she’ll be having a boy or a girl.

Bobbi and Natasha throw her a baby shower, and she ends up crying because she’s so happy. They think it’s about the party, and it is, but it’s also because someone else got her a crib and she doesn’t have to worry about choosing a worse one that may scar her child for life. Mostly the party, of course, but it’s good to have one less monumental decision to make.

Steve comes by later that week to help her set up the crib in her bedroom. “Is this place even big enough for the two of you?” he asks. He sits on the floor with all the parts scattered around him. She has strict orders to sit on the bed and point at something if he needs it.

“Could probably squeeze in three, actually. Place was built in the early 1900s. And when you think of tenements…”

“Ah, yes. Tenements. Commonly referred to as the best places to raise a child.”

“Sarah Eleanor.”

He freezes. After several long seconds, he looks at her.

“I went to the doctor. Asked. It’s a girl. Eleanor Sarah doesn’t sound quite right, so Sarah Eleanor.”

He gets on his knees and shuffles over to kiss her. The crib is forgotten for hours.

* * *

The first time she has a contraction, she thinks it’s gas. How is she supposed to think otherwise? All the books and forums had talked about how easy it was to confuse the two, and she’s twice already thought she’s having contractions when it’s been nothing.

The worst part is that it happens during an exam, when everything is absolutely silent except for the scritches of pens against paper. She hurries through her exam, taking just enough time to make sure all her answers are correct, and then hurries to the bathroom. She gets there right as the second wave hits, and then, holy crap, did she just _wet herself?_

She darts into a stall as fast as her submarine-sized body will allow (how are the stalls so small, by the way, aren’t there laws against that?) and drops onto the toilet.

No. Not pee. Clear liquid.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. She stares at her stomach. “This is gonna be a hell of a fart.”

* * *

Steve joins her in the hospital. She’d put off calling him, knowing he had his own exams, but she’d called as soon as she thought he’d be done, and he’d raced over. He grabs her hand, and she’s grateful to have him there. Her hair is already wet with sweat, and the contractions are hell. She should have taken the epidural. But no, she’d wanted to be able to feel something if it went wrong.

The doctor comes in. They read the machines, ask her questions, do another ultrasound. “How do you feel about C-sections?” he asks, sounding pleasant and unworried. As if Sharon doesn’t know the fact he’s asking means something is wrong.

Steve stares at him, his grip tightening on Sharon’s hand. “What?”

“Do it,” Sharon growls. She squeezes Steve’s hand. “If it’s needed, there’s a note in my bedside table.”

“What?” he says, sounding more alarmed than before. But they’re already shoving him out of the way and prepping her for surgery.

* * *

She wakes with a sore throat. Steve, shadows under his eyes and his face grim, sits in a chair nearby, aimlessly sifting through channels on the television. As soon as she moves her head, though, he’s at her side, gingerly touching her hand.

“Ellie’s fine,” he says softly. “You lost a lot of blood and will have to stay a couple nights. I hope you have good insurance.”

She swallows, but her throat is too dry. “I’m kind of rich,” she whispers.

“Good. Hate to think what this place charges.”

She intertwines their fingers together. She doesn’t think he realizes how rich she is, but that’s fine.

Steve buzzes for the nurse, and they come in and check her over, then explain the timetable. She can have water soon for her throat, but they don’t want her trying to sit up on her own for a while longer. She whispers Ellie’s name, and the nurses coo over her and go to get her.

She can’t hold her on her own right away, discombobulated by the blood loss and the surgery, but Sharon will take what she can get, because as soon as she sees her daughter, she knows that Ellie is the person she loves most in the world. She’d been afraid she might be incapable of love, that something in her was broken and that was why her parents didn’t bother with her, but now she thinks maybe her parents were the broken ones.

Ellie is never, ever, _ever_ going to feel unloved.

* * *

Steve spends more time at her apartment than his own after that, and it makes sense to move him in with her. He’s also incredible with late-night diaper changes and taking care of Sharon while she takes care of Ellie.

Ellie is big enough to lift her head when Steve gets down on one knee. The ring is simple. It couldn’t have cost much, but she’s never loved a ring more. She falls to her knees and hugs him.

And says yes, of course.

* * *

Things get trickier their sophomore year. They have classes they can’t take Ellie to and have to make time to find a daycare. They should have done it sooner, honestly, but they’d both preferred to pretend they’d be able to stay with Ellie a little longer. Their friends step up in the meantime, coming by the apartment to take care of Ellie when Sharon and Steve can’t.

Sharon feels awful putting so much pressure on them, and by Thanksgiving, she’s finagled Ellie into a daycare.

“Can we even afford that?” Steve asks, worried. “It’s supposed to be one of the best in the city. Like. Rich people go there. _Really_ rich people.”

Sharon hesitates, then grabs a bank statement from the mail pile. She opens it and shows it to him. “I said I was rich,” she reminds him.

“That’s not rich,” he counters, staring at it. “That’s beyond rich.”

She shrugs. “If not for the trust funds set up by my grandparents, I’d be poor, and we’d be in a much worse mess. Frankly, I’m not expecting to get anything from my parents. Ever.”

He grins softly. “I wouldn’t say we’re in a mess.”

“That reminds me, I’ve got to wash your shirt. Ellie got a hold of it.”

His grin widens, then freezes. “I don’t care if you’re rich. I’m paying half the rent.”

She frowns at him, argues, and refuses. So does he.

In the end, the landlord makes the decision for them. Three people in one studio apartment is against the rules. They have to move out.

* * *

Christmas finds them in an apartment on Morningside Drive and playing host to friends. The apartment has plenty of windows for Steve to paint by, an open area to have their friends over, and three bedrooms. Technically, one is reserved as a nursery, but for now Sharon and Steve are content to let Ellie sleep in the crib in their room.

It’s their first Christmas as parents and their first Christmas as a married couple, and there are pictures on the mantle of the two of them, Ellie, Bobbi, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky at the courthouse scattered throughout the apartment.

Sharon wonders what her parents will think if they see the marriage announcement in the papers, and there are times she imagines her telling her parents off and showing them how happy she is now. It’s a nice fantasy, but she’s content to let it remain such. Her current reality is pleasant enough not to besmirch it with her parents.

* * *

The passage of twenty years or so finds Sharon with a master’s degree and several books under her belt, along with some television talking head documentaries. Her parents try to contact her after her first television appearance – she suspects because they think they’ll otherwise look bad to their friends – and she doesn’t respond.

Steve restores art for the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sells his own art on the side.

Ellie has two little brothers and a little sister, and all of them know that they are truly, deeply loved. Sharon finds that dying alone no longer frightens her. What matters is making sure her children know that they’re loved, and no matter what the future brings, that’s enough for her.


End file.
